


The Hardest Part of Saying Goodbye

by FantasticalNonsense



Series: Avatar Katara (ATLA Element Swap AU) [5]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Air Nomad Genocide (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, More Hurt Than Comfort, Post-Canon, Sort Of, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticalNonsense/pseuds/FantasticalNonsense
Summary: Post-War, c. 101-103 AG. Air Nomad Sokka returns to the Southern Air Temple for the first time in over one hundred years with his girlfriend, former Fire Princess Suki, in tow. What they discover reveals that no one is innocent in wartime, not even the dead.





	The Hardest Part of Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [attackfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackfish/gifts).

> First fic for the Avatar fandom! I hope I do you all proud.
> 
> I should note that Sokka and Katara already knew about the Air Nomad Genocide, having witnessed the direct aftermath when they returned to the Eastern Air Temple from one of her humanitarian missions. Thus, there was no incentive for them to visit the Southern Air Temple as per canon. 
> 
> Thanks again to attackfish for letting me play around in your sandbox! I hope I've done your headcanons justice.

It was early morning when Sokka sighted the familiar landscape of the Patola Mountain Range. Mist rolled throughout the craggy peaks in soft tendrils, obscuring the valley below. He pulled on Momo’s reins and urged him to fly higher to avoid colliding with the lower peaks. From the saddle, he heard Suki stirring.

“Good morning!” he called.

“Morning.” She yawned and slid out of the saddle, settling next to Sokka. “Are we nearly there?”

“Yeah, just a bit further to go,” he replied. He drew her closer and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Hmm,” she sighed, leaning against his shoulder and lacing her fingers through his. Then, “Sokka, your hands.” She held up his left hand in front of him. “They’re trembling.”

Sure enough, his hand was wracked by tiny tremors, causing his fingers to twitch uncontrollably. He looked down at his lap. His right hand had slackened its grip on the reins and was trembling, too.

“It’s nothing,” he said, hastily taking back his hand and sitting on it, hoping that the tremors would stop. He shot her what he hoped was an assuring grin, but judging by her hard glare, she wasn’t buying it.

“Really, I’m fine!”

Suki’s glare softened. She grasped his shoulder in a comforting manner. “We don’t have to do this. If you’re not ready, we can still turn back.”

He closed his eyes. Images of the Eastern Air Temple flashed before him: the huge, billowing clouds of smoke that poured from the scarred buildings, the acrid smell of burnt flesh, the twisted, blackened bodies of the nuns and novices who only days before had been eagerly preparing for the end-of-summer festival…

Sokka forced back the tears. “No. I have to do this. I _need_ to do this. They deserve a proper burial.”

Suki nodded. They continued on for another hour in companionable silence before the mist began to clear away, revealing a tall, white and blue pagoda that shone in the light of the mid-morning sun. Smaller pagodas and outer buildings in the same colour scheme surrounded the central tower, topped with tiled roofs in the shape of lotus flowers.

He’d been preparing for collapsed roofs and scorched stonework, a pile of ruins in place of his former home. But the Southern Air Temple stood tall and defiant within the mountain, a lasting achievement to his people’s skill and artistry. 

“Sokka, it’s beautiful!” Suki cried.

Sokka gave a small, sad smile. “Yeah, it is.” He patted the top of Momo’s head affectionally.

“We’re home, buddy. We’re home.”

* * *

The silence was deafening.

Sokka looked out across the barren courtyard, trying to reconcile his memories with what he saw before him. It was a crisp, autumn day with blustery winds, ideal for teaching new airbending techniques. Monks should have been here with their students, guiding them through the motions, with lemurs chittering in the trees and air bison soaring above.

When they first arrived at the Western Air Temple, he’d been too weak to notice the lack of monastic activity within its walls (and admittedly too distracted by Suki’s beautiful face and gentle hands as she nursed him back to health to focus on much else). Then Katara and her little ragtag group of allies had shown up and any thoughts on the subject flew out the window as he embraced his sister after months apart.

Now, having returned, his people’s absence was all too apparent. No monks, no lemurs, no air bison: just silence, and a bunch of weeds.

“Sokka?”

He snapped out of his reverie and turned to face Suki.

“I was just asking about those poles over there. What were they used for?”

“Wha—oh! That’s the airball stadium. We use to have matches once a week, weather permitting. I, uh, wasn’t the greatest player,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his shaved head. That was an understatement; he’d been blown off the goal post so many times he made Jinju—_Jinju_—look good by comparison. His friends had never let him live it down.

Suki smiled. “Sounds neat. You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

He beamed. “Definitely. But fair warning, it’s a game that keeps you on your toes.”

“Oh, yeah?” She poked his side playfully. “I think I can keep up.”

They continued exploring the temple complex, Sokka pointing out different structures and their uses and filling Suki in on the finer points of Air Nomad culture. She absorbed it all, asking questions to clarify things she didn’t quite understand and writing down notes. Around noon they took a break for lunch and compiled a list broadly detailing how much damage the building had sustained, what materials they’d need, and who amongst the classically-trained Fire Nation architects and artisans were most suited to the task of restoration. Work wouldn’t officially commence for another few months, but in Sokka’s experience, it never hurt to plan ahead.

Afternoon drifted into early evening and the teenagers were about to call it in—they’d covered nearly every inch of the temple and still hadn’t found any human remains—when Suki stumbled across a familiar-looking helmet. She called Sokka over and held it up for him to see. He examined it carefully. Definitely Fire Nation, but the design was from a century ago; he’d seen this style worn by soldiers of the Dragon Brigade during a trip into the Outer Islands. The faceplate was cracked and heavily scorched, as though the solider wearing it had been burned by his own flames.

“Looks like it fell from a long distance. Perhaps there’s more up there.” Suki pointed up the sheer mountain cliff towards an outcrop where a ruinous, canvas-draped outer building stood. Sokka opened his gilder and motioned for her to climb on. Once they reached the top, they pulled back the layers of old, rotting canvas and stepped inside.

Piles of skeletons littered the ground in great clumps of armour and bone. Some were facing upward, with tell-tale scorch marks ingrained on their helmets and breastplates. Many more were lying face-down in a manner that suggested they’d spent their final moments gasping for breath, limbs extended in a desperate bid to stay alive. In the center of it all lay a lone skeleton with scraps of saffron robes clinging to its emaciated frame, and a large wooden pendant around its neck. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had caused these soldiers’ deaths.

Sokka stepped carefully over the bodies as he made his way to the remains of the airbender. His hands were shaking and his stomach threatened to churn over but he didn’t care. He had to know who this airbender was, he had to be sure…

The pendant was of the kind that once adorned the necks of the great masters. Only five monks in the Southern Air Temple had worn them during his time, all members of the Council. He traced the bulbous prayer beads and the faded red tassels, and a familiar notch just above the air symbol where he’d scratched the surface with a misplaced penknife. He gently turned the pendant over.

On the back was a single character etched into the wood in a childish scrawl: 父.

_Father_.

It was Gyatso’s pendant.

Sokka’s legs gave way. He retched, his tears mixing with the contents of his stomach as they fell to the floor. When he could no longer heave, he sobbed, loudly and unrepentantly, pouring out all the grief and anger and frustration he’d been bottling up since he and Katara first witnessed the destruction of their people.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed before he felt Suki’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to meet her. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She opened her arms, offering him sanctuary. His eyes were puffy and red and a thin line of puke was clinging to his chin which would probably stain her tunic, but he didn’t care.

He collapsed into her arms and together they shared in his grief.

* * *

They cremated Gyatso at dawn the next morning, followed by the soldiers.

* * *

It was agreed that Suki would take the soldiers’ ashes back to the Fire Nation, to be interned in a hall dedicated to those who had died in the war. Sokka would fly Momo to the top of Mount Aditya at sunset and scatter Gyatso’s ashes to the four winds in the traditional manner of the Air Nomads. Since they hadn’t found any other airbenders among the bodies, he would have to stand-in for all.

Sokka clutched the urn. It was still warm from the heat of the ashes. For a moment he entertained the notion that he was holding Gyatso’s spirit in his hands, and if he opened the lid his mentor would appear before him as he had in life, all deep-wrinkles and kind eyes and quick-wit. 

What would he say to him? _I’m sorry I left? I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help our people? I’m sorry for all the times I dismissed your teachings; I didn’t know how much I’d come to rely on them…_

He didn’t dare voice the one question that burned within him, because he knew he’d never get a satisfying answer. It was the reality of war, especially when you were backed against a wall with no other options.

That didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Closing his eyes, Sokka leaned his head against the urn and waited for the warmth to die down.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Momo is a flying bison in this 'verse.


End file.
